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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28283061">Fords, Fjords, and Ferries</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linnrinn/pseuds/Linnrinn'>Linnrinn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Death Is Only The Beginning... [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cutting, Multi, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:02:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,836</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28283061</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linnrinn/pseuds/Linnrinn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The immortal family is still trying to put themselves back together, but now they have to do it on the run.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Death Is Only The Beginning... [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2066418</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Fords, Fjords, and Ferries</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>again, any better translations than remedial google translate attempts are always welcome.</p><p>still exploring Booker's different dealings with the Guard after his betrayal...i like the idea that each person's beef with Booker differs depending on who they are. and i think Booker's issues could run deeper than even we saw in the film, and the poor man is hurting. he's got alot of issues with negative coping mechanisms, i would imagine.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At the first spray of bullets that tore through the Parisian apartment, Booker threw himself over Andy, tackling her to the ground. It was odd, having to worry about Andy now that she was a squishy, breakable human. It also magnified the risk and loss factors significantly in his mind. There was always an element of self-preservation that held sway despite their immortality; the human mind and body still tended to want to avoid pain and death. But with Andy being mortal now, his adrenaline ran even higher than it normally did and he didn’t hesitate to cover her.</p><p>Joe and Nicky barreled into the room at low crouches, strapping on swords and pulling their shirts over their heads. Boots were hastily stuffed onto their feet as they moved along Booker’s living room wall. Nile herself had taken a bullet to the shoulder, but had enough wherewithal to throw herself from the couch and down to the floor, staying flat as another hail of bullets shot through the apartment. Unfortunately, Quyhn took a bullet right through the frontal lobe.</p><p>Upon seeing Quynh slump on the couch, Andy bucked underneath Booker, trying to crawl out from under him to her. Booker flattened his weight, trying to keep her safely under him and received a bone cracking elbow to the ribs. He groaned and rolled, allowing her to hastily crawl to the other woman. Pulling Quynh to the floor, Andy cradled her head. Another spray of bullets.</p><p>“Fuck!” Nile remarked. “Sitrep?!” The older immortals, to their amusement and often times their befuddlement, found that Nile often lapsed into Marine slang both in and out of battle. It was a new language for them, and they hadn’t quite become fluent in it yet.</p><p>“What?!” Nicky asked as he crawled towards them, Joe hot on his heels.</p><p>Nile grunted. “Situation report?! What the hell is going on?”</p><p>“Guns. Bullets. From the street,” Booker whispered into the silence between rounds.</p><p>“No shit, Booker. Real helpful,” Nile griped. She army (marine?) crawled to the window and cautiously peeked over enough to make out the street below. “One van visible and stationary. A similar vehicle might have just left. No way to tell how many there are with two vans. We gotta go.”</p><p>Quynh suddenly gasped to life in Andy’s arms. Immediately, she thrashed and bucked, grabbing at her throat in panic. As if she were still underwater. It was no doubt the first death she’s suffered where she didn't wake up drowning.</p><p>“You’re alright, Quynh,” Andy assured her firmly. “Listen to me. You are not in the coffin. You are not alone.” It takes a few moments for Quyhns eyes to clear, for the panic to release its death grip on her.</p><p>On the other side of the room, Booker pried the carpet away and revealed wood floors underneath. With a pocket knife, he jimmied one of the floorboards up to reveal a small weapons cache and a go bag. Quickly he begins to slide weapons and bullets to the others “We need to leave now. The car is parked in the back alley. We meet there.”</p><p>“What’s our E&amp;E?” Nile asked as she checked the safety on a pistol.</p><p>“Escape and Evasion?” Booker asked in affirmative clarification. “The stairwell is an option. There’s a fire escape from the bedroom window.”</p><p>Andy answered. “Joe and Nicky, take Nile with you to the fire escape. Booker with me and Quynh.”</p><p>“No.” Joe objected harshly. “No way.”</p><p>Andy whipped her head to look at him, furious that he wasn’t following orders. “All of us together is too large and obvious. We need to split up.”</p><p>Joe shook his head emphatically, mouth frowning fiercely. “I am not leaving anyone alone. Is no one else’s bullshit meter not pinging right now?! How is it that we’ve just let Booker back and we are suddenly under attack?!”</p><p>“<em>Ce n’est pas moi, connard,</em>” Booker snarled.</p><p>“Enough,” Andy’s voice snaps like a whip. “I wasn’t asking. Split the parties. Meet at the car. Take anyone down you run into. Nile, Nicky, Joe. See if you can get any info from the van or men inside. We will look on our end.”</p><p>To his credit, Joe did not argue any further. With a tight nod, he crouched and ran to the bedroom, Nicky and Nile close behind him. When they entered the bedroom, Nile immediately ran to the window and gently eased it open, wincing with every small noise it made. She was the first through, with Joe following closely behind. Nicky stayed crouched on the fire escape above them, sharp eyes watchful for anyone entering the alley while the other two descended. Once the other two were on the ground and each monitoring a building corner, Nicky scurried down after them.</p><p>Nile took point, heading down the alley with both mEn flanking her. Over their months together, Nile found that she enjoyed working in a team with the two. With their already seamless and unspoken ability to work as one, it made working as a three-man team easy. It had taken a lot of time learning to work in sync with her Dizzy and Jay and her fellow marines. Joe and Nicky enveloped her, like they did with any of the others, into their rhythm without much difficulty.</p><p> If she were to be in a duo, she’d throw herself in with Andy or Booker. Andy was a given, with all her experience and skills, but Booker was just as good a choice. She’d experienced it to a small degree in Merrick’s lab. He was as good a support as one could get: watching his partner’s back and anticipating when he was needed to take point. Nile thought of it as vanilla ice cream: it is an excellent compliment to whatever its paired with and brings out the best in that ingredient.</p><p>When Nile hit the building’s corner, she slowed, leaning just slightly enough around to locate the van.  Two men, one posted at the end of the van and the other at the hood, each using the van as both cover while resting assault rifles on the vehicle for stability.  The two muttered to each other and sent off another few shots into the apartment above. They had to have known its occupants would have fled by now. Which meant their job was to flush them all out and into the sights of their comrades.</p><p>“Two. Front and back of the van. Assault rifles. No doubt, they’ve got friends waiting for us to pop up.” Nile murmured quietly.</p><p>Nicky nodded. “You two, take the van. I will watch the buildings alleys.”</p><p>“No doubt we’re gonna take a hit or two getting there,” Joe eyed the van himself before pulling back into the shadows of the alley. He looked down at Nile and grinned. “Race you?”</p><p>Nile grinned. “You’re on.”</p><p>And then they were off, sprinting around the corner in the van’s direction. The two men were startled, giving them a few extra milliseconds before they began to fire. Nile took a bullet to the thigh. Joe got one in his arm. Nile made it first only because Joe had oriented himself to be between the guns and Nicky, who had his back turned to the guns in order to watch the alley.</p><p>Nile chose the one at the front of the van, using her speed to vault over it and slide across the hood as she put a bullet neatly between his eyes. She heard the echo of Joe’s gun as he took out the other.</p><p>Nicky’s gun reported twice. Nile could barely make out two figures, one at each alleyway as if they’d tried to surround them. She was grateful for Nicky’s sharp gaze watching their backs.</p><p>“Nile?” Joe called quietly from behind the van. Though with all the gunfire, it didn't quite matter. They had to move quickly since she had no doubt someone had already alerted the police.</p><p>“I’m good. Nicky?”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>She leaned down to get a closer look at the man. He wore all black and tactical gear, high grade body armor built with kevlar. She rummaged through his pockets, finding no identification of any kind, not that she was surprised. They seemed to be hired mercenaries and none of them would want to carry something that could identify who they were or who they worked for. Sighing inwardly, she skirted around the van to where Joe and Nicky knelt next to the other downed men.</p><p>“Anything?”</p><p>“Nothing.”</p><p>“<em>Niente</em>.”</p><p>Sirens echoed in the distance, still a ways away but getting closer. Wordlessly, they hurried towards the back of the building to meet Andy, Booker and Quynh.</p><p>- - -</p><p>Andy was the first down the stairs, as always, as it would be until the day she died and stayed dead. Quynh was second, following Andy closely with Booker bringing up the rear. It was the first time since Merrick’s lab that Booker was fighting alongside her while she was mortal. And it felt like a whole different animal, despite Andy saying nothing changed.</p><p>She wouldn’t appreciate him coddling her, insisting that she go behind him to protect her. Not that she objected to him shielding her like they did in the lab. Andy went first in the lab, the rest of the guard shielding her, but she went first. If he suggested that she do anything different, it would only imply that she’d lost her capabilities with her immortality and he wouldn’t do that to her. But he didn’t know which was worse: the thought of Andy dying of old age or in battle when she could have lived a few more decades. Both were not options he wanted to contemplate.</p><p>A creak above him alerted Booker just as a figure appeared around the corner of the flight of stairs below. They were being pincered in, above and below. Immediately, Booker whirled and shot, striking the man on the landing above them in the arm. His target didn't hesitate or pause, leaping at Booker and sending them both careening down the set of stairs.</p><p>The guy below them got a shot off and Booker’s heart stopped when he heard it. He hoped there was a god out there somewhere, though he didn’t know which of the religions had the right one pegged. So, he sent a panicked prayer up to any of them that Andy was still okay as he and his opponent continued to fall.</p><p>Andy had, thankfully, only been winged as she’d thrown herself to the side once she saw the gun. Without missing a beat, she took a running leap and kicked off the wall, her knees wrapping around the man’s helmeted head and then using her forward falling momentum to bring him down hard. She regained her feet quickly, but winced at the stitches pulling in her knife wound.</p><p>Booker managed to turn his opponent underneath him when they landed on the last few steps, and they hit hard. With his weight on top, Booker felt the impact and noted that the man’s back had most likely broken on the last stair. Quynh lingered on the same landing he was on, watching Andy as she disarmed another one of the bastards coming up the stairs, no doubt the partner of the one she’d just taken down.</p><p>A bullet splintered above his head. Booker turned back to the previous landing and shot, glad he had retained a hold of his gun, and his bullet found the bend of the man’s hip above the top of the thigh. His second bullet buried itself in soft neck and the man collapsed. A shriek of panic pulled his attention to where Andy just bodily tossed the fourth attacker over the railing, sending him hurtling through the stairwell’s empty shaft to the basement level. Both of them peered downwards as the man let out a pained groan before falling unconscious.</p><p>“I think he might have survived that.” Booker noted.</p><p>“Lucky bastard,” Andy agreed. They grinned at each other until a choking sound drew their attention.</p><p>Quyhn was on top of the man with the broken back, her hands wrapped around his throat in a vise. Her dark eyes were empty as she watched the man’s face go purple, his hands batting weakly at her and his body convulse from lack of air.</p><p>Andy immediately moved to her side.</p><p>Booker followed. “Wait, Quynh. He could tell us who sent them.”</p><p>Andy leaned over to remove her hands, only to see his movements cease and any light leave his eyes. “Let him go, Quynh. He’s dead.”</p><p>Quynh stares at the dead man and then her own hands with a sort of dead calm. “I suffocated him, Andromache.” She looked at the man again. “He isn’t waking up. I kept waking up.”</p><p> Andy gently lifted Quyhn to her feet while Booker used the moments to search the men only to find nothing of importance. Hired mercenaries then. Expensive ones, by the looks of the Kevlar and weapons. He remained crouched on the floor, looking up as Andy looked Quynh over.</p><p>“I didn’t call them, Andy. I swear.”</p><p>“Of course, you didn’t, Book. I never thought that.” Andy glanced at him. “And deep down, I don’t think the others think that either.”</p><p>Booker gave her an unconvinced look.</p><p>“Joe’s been burned, Book. He has a right to be suspicious.”</p><p>Booker sighed and stood. “I won’t argue with you on that. And Nile definitely doesn’t think that. She’s too kind for her own good.”</p><p>There had been no more of the armored men coming for them so they took the next few flights at a slower pace, allowing Quynh time to recover.</p><p>“It’s her kindness that makes up the best of who she is. Her kindness and her strength. She could be the best of us Booker.”</p><p>“I think you’re pretty great yourself, Boss.”</p><p>A few landings down, Andy stopped and faced him. “I need you to promise me something.”</p><p>Booker waited warily.</p><p>“When I go, I need you to take care of her.”</p><p>Booker raised a skeptical brow. “Boss-”</p><p>“Not as if she isn’t capable or needs care, Book. She’s going to be the point of the spear once I’m gone. The one who enters first. And she needs someone to watch her six, like you’ve done for me these past years. They will all need you, but Nile most of all. She will take on the world and she needs someone loyal by her side. Someone who will guard her back. I need you to do that for me.”</p><p>“Boss-“ His voice was pained. Reluctant.</p><p>“Promise me.” Her voice was firm, but her green eyes pled with him.</p><p>Booker ran a frustrated hand through his blond hair. “Andy. I’m the soldier who deserted his general. I managed to make my family hate me before they all died. I betrayed this family. I’m not loyal, Andy. I’m a traitor, deserter and a fuck up. Please. You don’t want me for this and I don’t want you to ask this of me.”</p><p>“You are loyal, Book.” Andy placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve seen it. But you give your loyalty sparingly, selectively. Napoleon did not have it. Your family did and they threw it back into your face before the end. Your grief has had it as of late, rather than this family. And our family needs it. Nile needs it. She is good, Booker. For you, for this family, for the world. So find your loyalty in her.” Her hand tightened minutely, urging him. Asking him. His blue eyes met her green ones and he sighed.</p><p>“Alright, Boss. <em>C'est promis</em>.”</p><p>“Good. Let’s meet the others.”</p><p>- - -</p><p>It had been a long and tiring string of days. Their SUV limped along the deserted road. It’s riders were chilled, due to a just recently installed ventilation system courtesy of more gun wielding mercenaries a good many kilometers back. Nile, despite not knowing much about machines and vehicles, figured it was a miracle their bullet riddled ride was still running. They were a few miles outside of Hamburg, needing to stop for supplies and for a chance for Booker to forge new paperwork and passports for everyone.</p><p>Life as an immortal was not all it was cracked up to be. Constantly replacing clothing was a hazard of the job, but little things like acquiring passports after having to go on the run without time to grab a go bag wasn't something she ‘d considered at the start of her immortality. Unless they charted an illegal, under the table flight, they had to travel by road because air travel over ocean wasn’t easy. They couldn't go to any embassies to get new passports because they technically did not exist, unless they had forged birth certificates. They swung between living nomadically in which constantly moving could become exhausting, and staying somewhere for a few years which mean organizing a lot of logistics. And once someone noticed you’d stayed wrinkle free for twenty years, it was time to move on anyway.</p><p>Nile grimaced down at herself covered in blood and bullet holes in her clothes. Thank god they had all managed to cover Andy with their bodies after the first bullet shot through the windshield and took Booker in the jaw.  It was also rather inconvenient that Quynh had swung from catatonic to catastrophic in those tense few moments and had tried to exit the van and take on the mercenaries that had ambushed them by herself. Nicky, god bless him, had enough presence of mind (because he happened to not have a bullet in his brain pan at the time) to grab her to pull her back inside, hit the child locks (a modern marvel that Quynh hadn’t yet learned to navigate) and slam the van door shut. After corralling Quynh, they had returned fire, fanning out to dispatch the mercenaries.</p><p>Now, Andy was driving, too pissed and exhausted to allow anyone else control of the wheel despite Joe having been driving earlier. She was also snarling into a burner phone with the ferocity of a tiger.</p><p>“Who are they, Copley? We need to know!”</p><p>Nile was surprised to find that the heated anger and the ‘just a half step away from yelling’ tone Andy was using was preferable to the angry quiet from the past few hours.</p><p>“We’ve been ambushed at Booker’s apartment in Paris and they caught us again outside of Helsinki. You’re telling me that they have a bead on us but you can’t seem to find out who they are?!” Andy growled.</p><p>Before the gunfight, the entire ride had been quiet. Tense. Joe refused to look at, speak, or acknowledge Booker in any capacity, and was uncharacteristically withdrawn. Nicky kept looking at Booker though the rearview mirror, his green eyes filled with grief and sadness with each glance. While Andy seemed to be readier to forgive Booker and bring him into the fold, she respected the others need for distance and withheld to a degree as well. For the small amount of time she had seen them all together, Nile could recall Andy and Booker’s perpetual interactions of banter and affection, like a brother and sister that got along well. Instead, Andy only seemed to succumb to exhaustion, falling asleep once they had left Paris. Quynh said and did nothing. Just sat and stared out the window. And Booker just shrank miserably into his back seat next to Nile</p><p>“You’re fucking ex-CIA, Copley. Figure. It. Out.” Andy slammed a button on the phone to hang up before turning her attention back to the road. “Booker. How long will you need in Hamburg to get the passports and paperwork ready?”</p><p>“A day or two,” Booker mumbled.</p><p>“You’ve got the former.” Andy answered. “We’ve taken too long as it is.”</p><p>Since they didn't have any of their papers and passports, they’d had to take a few days to hike over the France-Germany border before hot-wiring their current SUV to drive towards Denmark. It had been long and arduous, especially with having to procure supplies while keeping a lookout for signs of the people hunting them.</p><p>“Should we think about splitting up, Boss?” Nicky asked.</p><p>Andy shook her head. “No. We don’t know what they want and if one of us goes missing, we may not know about it until someone doesn't check in or report to the safe house. I don’t want to take that chance. Until Copley finds out who this is and what they want, we need to watch each other’s backs.”</p><p>“What happens after we get to Denmark?” Nile asked from the backseat next to Booker.</p><p>“We ride a ferry into Norway,” Nicky answered her. He looked at Joe, who was always willing to give Nile answers as a way of easing her into her new life, and frowned when Joe remained silent. “Once we cross the Skagerrak Strait, we can take the railway up to Flam.” Nicky finished, still eyeing his husband with concern.</p><p>“For now, we find a place to sleep and get our passports made.” With that conclusion, the group fell back into silence, bullet holes a fitting image for the damaged family inside it.</p><p>- - -</p><p>Booker sat bent over the hotel desk, an array of tools and supplies spread before him to the degree that they kept falling off the edge. His contact in Hamburg had given him access to passports to alter and he did the work himself, saving them a pretty penny though having Copley around had helped to ease their financial situations somewhat. It was difficult to access money if your last alias was going on ninety years old or your debit card got destroyed in a fiery explosion.</p><p>Andy, the least damaged of the group, had gone out to find suitable clothing and other supplies for the group and Quynh and Nile had gone with her. Nicky was currently ditching the car and Joe would have gone with him had not Andy ordered him to watch Booker’s back when he’d gone to visit the seedy section of the city to acquire the passports. Joe had grated at the order, but held his tongue and nodded stiffly.</p><p>The quest had been smooth, with no more mercenaries popping up. It had also been extremely cold, and not just in the way of weather. They exchanged no words with each other as they took a taxi to and from the hotel. There were no interactions upon entering the small, two bed hotel room they had rented for them all. Joe had gone to stare out of the lone window, looking out for the others returns as Booker set to his very talented work at passport fraudulence.</p><p>After a while, Joe saw Booker reach for something in his pocket, only to groan and rub his eyes when he patted himself down in the universal sign for ‘<em>where is it, I lost it</em>’. “Fuck. Left my flask in the damn car.”</p><p>Joe turned back to the window. “It would seem you should have done that a long time ago,” he couldn’t help but respond. The anger and frustration that still burned after months had been stoked higher with the stress of running from Paris, keeping them all safe as they travel to Flam.</p><p>“Maybe the front desk has some stuff,” Booker muttered, reaching for the desk phone.</p><p>“Can’t you leave off for one night?” Joe snapped. “Are you truly unable to function without having to numb yourself up and wrap yourself in a haze of booze?” He finally turned to glare at Booker, to truly direct attention at him since the farm in Paris.</p><p>Booker slammed the phone back into the cradle, turning on Joe with jaw clenched and fists balled. “What do you want from me, Joe? What would you have me do?”</p><p>“I want you to figure out what <em>you</em> finally want, Booker.” Joe returned.</p><p>“You want to know what I want, Joe?!” Booker shot to his feet, bellowing angrily. “I want for you to pull yourself out of the goddamn bubble you’ve got yourself and Nicky wrapped in all the time. I want you to get how hollowed out I feel having to lose my family and then be strangled with your happiness being shoved down my throat for centuries! I want you to at least fucking understand why I did what I did. I lost so much with my immortality and you cant see or understand that because you only gained Nicky.”</p><p>“Fuck you, Booker. I lost my family too! I had a father and a mother. I had a brother and two sisters! You are not the only one who has lost people!” Joe stalked to him, squaring up with him.</p><p>“It’s been decades for you, Joe. Centuries. Do you even remember the faces of those people in your family? Remember how their laugh sounded or the touch of their arms around you? No, you don’t, because time has dulled and healed those wounds and destiny gave you something to replace that loss. I got nothing! Nothing but more pain and grief that death cannot rid me of.”</p><p>At the mention of his family’s faces, something shifted in Joe’s face. His brown eyes grew cold, shuttered, and he drew back. Not defeat, Booker thought, but maybe retreat. His raised voice dropped back to a normal albeit strangled tone.</p><p>“You have no ground to put the blame on Nicky and my relationship. You had something. You had a family with us. But you betrayed us for your dead one. You can’t have it both ways, Booker. It’s us, or your ghosts.”  Joe’s face hardened, giving Booker a glimpse of the warrior poet of old, the romanticized fighter that saw beauty in the things and people around him and chose to fight to protect that. “If you choose us, we will be waiting, but it’s going to be a long damn time before I trust you with them. I love this family with every fiber of my being. Nicky is the other half of my soul. And I will not let your self-destructive grief destroy them too.”</p><p>Joe turned back to the window and finished harshly. “Figure it out. Or I will make sure you never go near them again.” And then he was silent.</p><p>Booker was at a loss of what to do. He thought about punching Joe. He thought about turning around and leaving the country. He thought about finding the nearest bar to drown in, passports be damned. He thought about a bullet in the eye actually taking.</p><p>The hotel door opened and Nicky entered. Immediately noticing the two standing near the window, his blue eyes took in Joe’s rigid stance and Booker’s aimless posting a few feet from him. “What’s going on?”</p><p>Joe turned and immediately went to his husband’s side. “Nothing. Come. We will use the shower before the girls come back and hog it for hours.” Pulling Nicky with him into the bathroom, he shut the door firmly.</p><p>Booker felt that barrier of wood acutely, and his chest ached. Miserably, he collapsed into the desk chair. His hands felt heavy as he picked up the exacto knife he’d been using and deliberated. One more glance at the bathroom door and he gently sliced through his skin on his palm. The pain was sweet, pushing through that ache in his chest until all he focused on was the cut of the blade. And then he watched in disappointment as it healed over. So, he cut again. And again And again. Blood dripped on his clothes, but he was already covered in it from the gunfight. What was a little more? When the ache had eased enough, he turned the exacto knife back around and continued to work.</p><p>The girls arrived soon afterwards, bags of clothing filling their hands. Nile pounded on the bathroom door, yelling that she didn’t want to get an eyeful before opening the door and tossing a bag in for Joe and Nicky. She dropped some clothes into his lap as well, pausing to admire his work thus far. She called dibs on the shower next, eagerly pushing Joe and Nicky out when the opened the door. She grinned as Nicky tugged one of her braids gently and offered her help with her hair if it was a wash day. Joe patted her on the head, telling her not to take an hour and all the hot water. </p><p>Despite his mood, Booker couldn’t help but tip the corner of his mouth into a smile. Nile was good for the team. She was a little sister they all seemed to humor and dote on, even Andy. And yet some days it felt like she was the one holding them together, keeping their heads above water.</p><p>Andy and Quynh took the bathroom next, much quicker than Nile had been. When Andy proposed first watch, Booker told them to sleep as he would be up all night getting the passports done. The group looked uncomfortable with the suggestion, but in the end,  there was little argument, testifying to how tired the group was.</p><p>The girls squished into one bed, Andy holding Quynh and Nile’s back braced up against the Scythian’s. Joe and Nicky took the other, Joe taking his normal place behind his husband with his chest to Nicky’s back and his arms wrapped around him. Knives and guns were secreted under pillows and on nightstands. Everyone was asleep in minutes, leaving the room shadowed from the lone desk light and Booker hunched under it.</p><p>- - -</p><p>The next day, before the sun came up, they drove a different car over the Denmark border and ditched that one too once they reached Hirtshals where the North Sea was regularly forded by travelers. They bought tickets for the ferry to Kristiansand in groups of two, keeping a low profile and eyes watchful for anyone tailing them.  Andy had refused to leave Quynh’s side and of course Joe and Nicky were paired together. Andy had assigned Booker to Nile with a directional nod of her head and Booker felt sorry for Nile having to always be assigned to him since the others refused to be around him.</p><p>“Watch each other’s backs,” she’d instructed and then took Quynh’s hand and disappeared into the crowd, Quynh eyeing the water in trepidation. Joe and Nicky nodded to them and also melted into the crowd. They were all nervous. Being hunted, especially so soon after everything with Merrick, made the idea of being trapped on a boat over water without the freedom to escape seem like the worse possible scenario they could have chosen.</p><p>Once the ferry pulled away from the dock, Booker left Nile to restlessly walk. His feet took him past many other passengers, business man traveling for work, tourists on holiday, and others who he wondered what they were doing and where they were off to.</p><p>On the deck, he paused at the railing to look out at the sea, the wind chilling his ears and face but not enough to make him go below deck. He stilled in caution when footsteps approached him, but relaxed once he recognized their cadence. Nicky took the empty space next to him and rested his forearms on the rail. He didn’t look at Booker, just out across the water.</p><p>“You may as well get it out, Nicky,” Booker finally spoke wearily. “Everyone else has had their say. So, let’s have it. Tell me how I was wrong. How I betrayed everyone and don’t deserve to be a part of this family. How I fucked up and screwed everyone over.”</p><p>Nicky didn’t look at him, and Booker suddenly felt like he was in a confession box, spilling his sins to this former priest.</p><p>Nicky sighed. “I don’t know if you are saying all of this so that I will tell you I understand and it wasn’t your fault. That you were in so much pain it makes up for what you did, because I won’t do that Booker. I won’t tell you any of that because you know that what you did was wrong and that there is nothing to excuse it.”</p><p>Booker’s stomach roiled and he hated to realize that maybe he had hoped that Nicky would say those things. Any of it. That it was his fault and he fucked up, because the pain of those words would again pierce through his hazy fog he moved through every day. If not that, then that Nicky would say he understood why Booker did it, giving him a small measure of relief from the guilt that pressed on his shoulders.</p><p>“I know, Booker. I know what it’s like to make the biggest mistake of your life. To do unspeakable pain and wrong to someone else. So no, I won’t excuse you for it. I won’t give you what you need to justify what you did. I joined the crusades for redemption, for belonging, for purpose. I joined because I was angry and alone and lost. My blind zealotry and quest for myself did not excuse what I did all those centuries ago.” Then he turned to look at Booker. “Your pain and grief and loneliness…its valid, Booker. But it doesn't absolve what you did. I will forgive you one day, but God forgive me today is not that day. Until then and after then, take ownership of what you did. Do penance. Do better.”</p><p>The two men stood there, contemplating mistakes made. Booker felt his knees tremble and he gripped the rail harder. For months he had avoided fully facing the shame of what he’d done. He had hidden it behind gallons of alcohol and distracted himself from it with pain. He didn’t want to gaze on it fully. Instead, he’d partially blocked it out, like a hand giving relief from the sun’s rays. Now he stood in front of it with nothing to shade him. And it burned. It consumed him.  His chest seized, and he slipped to the deck, heedless if others could see him as he leaned his forehead against one of the lower metal rails. Bitter tears slipped down his face as he silently wept.</p><p>A hand, Nicky’s, reached forward and squeezed his shoulder once, before his footsteps departed and Booker was grateful that man gave him the courtesy to stare in the proverbial mirror of himself without an audience. And what he saw was ugly. It was pathetic. It was destructive and spiteful. It rotted inside him. It made him want to retch. He was tempted to reach for the knife in his boot and dig it into his thigh, but no. Maybe this one time he wouldn’t give himself the chance to breathe.</p><p>- - -</p><p>They arrived in Flam late at night, having rented a car in Kristiansand and driven the almost eight hours to the small town. The population was small, only about three hundred give or take. But it was well known for being a tourist attraction because of its many gorgeous fjords, which meant strangers were a norm and people passing through were expected.</p><p>The house sat a good handful of kilometers outside the actual town, the winding roads becoming dirt as they came to a beautiful house that sat on gentle rolling hills that overlooked a nearby fjord. The water reflected the light of the moon and highlighted the towering mountains around it. Stars twinkled their reflections in the water’s depths.</p><p>It was breathtaking and Nile couldn’t find it in herself to sleep. The others, having been to this safe house before (except for Quynh of course) had already flopped into bed. She sat out on the steps of the house’s front porch, a blanket wrapped around her. As a marine, she had learned how to fall asleep almost anywhere and at any time. But the view beckoned her. Entranced her. And she allowed herself to be drawn into it.</p><p>She didn’t know how long she’d been out there when a mug of tea was held in front of her. She looked up to find Booker solemnly offering it to her, another one gripped in his own hand. She smiled in thanks and took it carefully from his hands. He made as if to leave and she called out before she realized.</p><p>“Join me?”</p><p>He hesitated.</p><p>Nile patted the empty area of wooden step next to her, hoping he’d acquiesce. When they’d disembarked the ferry, he hadn’t even walked with her. Instead he’d trailed many feet behind, shoulders hunched and each step heavy as if he’d slogged through mud. When she’d arrived at the rental car alone, Booker strolling up minutes later because he’d lagged so much, Andy had snapped at him in French.</p><p><em>“You promised, Booker. Get your fucking head out of your ass.”</em> Booker hadn’t responded but did look ashamed. He’d glanced at Nile and then closed his eyes for a moment. Then he nodded and climbed in. Nile didn’t know what Andy was referring to, but whatever it was, he’d felt chastised enough to regret whatever he’d done on the ferry.</p><p>He cleared his throat and muttered to her. “I shouldn’t have left you alone on the ferry. I’m sorry.”</p><p>Nile glanced down at the mug and saw it as the peace offering it was meant to be. She smiled. “I can take care of myself, Booker.”</p><p>“I know. But I was supposed to back you up and I didn’t. That’s on me.” He answered quietly, still holding his own mug. He took a swallow and then scowled at the taste.</p><p><em>Not a tea person, definitely</em>, Nile thought in amusement.</p><p>Booker fished for the flask he’d acquired when they’d stopped by a 24-hour grocery store for basic food necessities. Nile resisted the urge to frown. She knew an alcoholic when she saw one.</p><p>Ignoring him spiking his tea, she turned back to look at the valley below, trying to internalize the peace of the nature around. She inhaled and then exhaled, breathing out a prayer for wisdom despite her very young years in comparison to an immortal.</p><p>“You know, I wanted to forgive you from the start, Booker. What you did was wrong, but in a weird way I understand why.” Booker looked at her in surprise, his blue eyes staring into her brown ones.</p><p>“Pain and grief can make us do the most desperate of things, wrong things. I’ve been moments away from calling my mom and brother, from endangering all of our existences, just to hear their voices.”</p><p>Booker frowned. “I’d forgotten. That you’ve lost family too, even if they are not yet passed. I’m sorry.”</p><p>Nile shook her head. “It’s easy to not see much when your grief sits squarely in front of you. But that’s not why I told you that.”</p><p>“Then why <em>are</em> you telling me this, Nile?” Booker asked.</p><p>“Because you and I have a choice, Booker.” She answered softly, gently. He’d no doubt been reprimanded enough, by the others and by himself. “We are the youngest and the closest to the losses of what immortality has brought us. We can either sit in our loss and waste away, or we can embrace what God has given us in the midst of our loss.”</p><p>Booker sighed. “What has God given us, Nile?”</p><p>Nile reached out and took his mug from him, setting it on the wood and slipping her hand into his. “A chance to do good in the world and help those that no one else will. A second family to love and protect for far longer than we’ve known our first families. It won’t make the pain go away, it won’t make the grief disappear…but it will give us an anchor and a direction. But you gotta want it, Booker. You gotta work for it. That family in there will love you if you let them.”</p><p>He looked down at her soft, darker hand nestled in his lighter one. “I don’t think I deserve that.”</p><p>“You don’t earn love, Booker.”</p><p>“Then why give it to me?” He asked, voice darkly anguished. “I know what I am, Nile. Who I am. And it’s nothing worth loving.”</p><p>Nile laughed softly, not unkindly. “Booker, it’s not <em>your</em> choice. You don’t get to choose who <em>we</em> love. We do. And we choose to <em>because</em> you are family. We choose you <em>as</em> family. Simple as that.”</p><p>“Simple, huh?” Booker noted, unconvinced. Nile nodded and scooted closer, putting her head on his shoulder.</p><p>It’s not something that would sink in immediately, take effect immediately. When she had met the family, she could see that there was love there, but also pain and disjointed brokenness running underneath. Booker still had a lot to work through. The family would forgive him eventually, but they had much to process themselves. But it was a step towards something better. Something stronger, something more healed.</p><p>“Simple as that,” she confirmed.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*Ce n’est pas moi, connard. (This wasn’t me, asshole)<br/>Niente (nothing)<br/>C'est promis (I promise) (thank you Matteic) for the help)</p><p>more to come...</p></blockquote></div></div>
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